HMS Hogwarts
by kitsunelover
Summary: SSHG Captain Snape and his jolly crew chase the dastardly Captain Mal Foi on the high seas and have quite a bit of fun on the way. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_HMS Hogwarts_

Disclaimer: Me?  I neither possess Harry Potter nor profit from it.  That's JKR's business.

A/N: This is terribly, terribly AU.  My inspiration for this fic was the movie _Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World._  (James D'Arcy was beautiful as First Lieutenant Tom Pullings!)  And I was reading _Peter Pan at the time too, so go figure.  There may be OOC-ness to some extent in certain characters.  To all those who can't stand the ship, this is SS/HG.  You have been warned.  The rating is for swearing.  If all of the above does not scare you off, do continue reading.  Thank you._

"ARRGH!"

The hapless Neville Longbottom, cabin boy aboard the HMS _Hogwarts, scuttled on deck, while crashing noises came behind him from the captain's cabin, which he had just hastily vacated._

Several boys clustered around him.

"What happened?" asked deckhand Dean Thomas, dark eyes anxious.

"I – I was serving him tea, and the ship pitched – and I _spilled on the captain_."  Neville's voice rose shrilly.

There was a collective, sharp intake of breath, and Seamus Finnegan, another deckhand, said ominously, "You're in for it now," thumping his mop on the deck for emphasis.  Captain Snape was notoriously ill-tempered.

His conjecture proved to be correct: no sooner had the words left his mouth when more incensed bellowing issued from the captain's cabin.

"I'll see you cleaning out bed pans in sick bay for two weeks, Longbottom!"

Neville winced.  

"At least it's only bed pans," Harry reassured him.  "_You didn't get demoted."_

"I'm only a cabin boy," moaned Neville.  "Is it even possible to be demoted?"

"Oh, right."  

Harry had been a midshipman despite lack of influence and connections, because he had defeated a particularly nasty pirate named Voldemort when he was a very small child.  Voldemort had killed both his parents, then turned his sword on Harry, only to slip during a severe oscillation of the ship, and fall upon his own blade.  Harry had escaped with merely a scar on his forehead.  Captain Snape, however, had stripped him of all rank for insubordination.  As the captain told it, Harry had failed to address him as "sir" in every other sentence he spoke to his face.  Harry's story had been quite different – in his own words, "I can, you know, do math and stuff," and someone who could carry over in multi-digit addition was certainly overqualified to count "sir's" for every other sentence.

"Maybe he could have made you a deckhand."

"I'd rather swab decks than serve the captain meals," said Neville mournfully. 

"Come on.  Remember what he did to Sirius . . .."  This from Ron Weasley.

"_That's true."  Many faces darkened at the memory._

The captain had left Midshipman Black at an uninhabited island equipped with only a screwdriver and a basket of cantaloupes.  This was punishment for repeated drunken renditions of "Ladies of Spain" while the captain had been attempting to wash his hair – always a very delicate operation, and as Captain Snape yelled, "Not to be further complicated by your intoxicated howling, you impertinent lout!"

Along with a good many others, Neville shuddered and, in the end, resolved to serve his punishment obediently.

All of these instances adequately illustrated how the captain had effectively alienated three-quarters of his crew.  A few who respected the captain did exist, such as Midshipman Hermione Granger.  In her eyes, he was capable, she would go as far as to say "brilliant" even, but as she was highly intellectual herself, compassion was an unnecessary quality in someone she admired.  Thus had Captain Snape obtained her loyalty.

Furthermore, mutiny was impossible because the First and Second Lieutenants, Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick, respectively, had gained the complete faith of the crew, and they were wholly devoted to the captain themselves.  Both of them were also extremely able officers, and kindhearted besides.  

The HMS _Hogwarts had been at sea nearly a month, on a mission to sink or take as prize the French vessel __Pamplemousse, on orders from Admiral Dumbledore.  The admiral was a genius, if a bit eccentric, and he had personally christened the HMS __Hogwarts.  It was rumored that the odd name had come from an esoteric disease the admiral himself had suffered in his childhood.  Well, one never knew with Dumbledore._

They were in the area which the _Pamplemousse_ was said to haunt, off the northwest coast of Africa, but nothing of note had happened so far.  Dr. Lupin assured them that when action did take place, it would be sufficiently gory to satisfy even the most bloodthirsty of appetites.  No one disbelieved him.

Captain Lucius Mal Foi, who commanded the _Pamplemousse_, was known for his ruthlessness, and in the last month or so, he had taken or sunk three British warships.  It was not to be borne, declared Admiral Dumbledore, a sentiment with which Captain Snape agreed, and seemed determined to uphold unto death.  Discipline aboard _Hogwarts was unfailingly strict._

Mostly, though, a whole lot of education had been going on, for the crew was almost entirely new to sailing.  Rumor had it that the last crew had hated or feared the captain so much that those who hadn't jumped over had resigned as soon as they had pulled into port.

Lt. McGonagall and Lt. Flitwick were excellent teachers, patient and thorough, and nobody on board disliked helping the doctor.  Even the most squeamish ones found something to like in Lupin's routine.

The captain himself instructed them in hand-to-hand combat.  Personally, Hermione felt that he was no less aggressive than Mal Foi, and that he was consequently the best person to be their sword master.

"Miss Granger, would you fetch the captain now?  I believe he is presently finishing his log."

"Aye, sir," said Hermione, saluting Flitwick.  Captain Snape gave them fighting lessons four times a week, and everyone was assembled on the forecastle, waiting for him.

She had never entered his cabin before, and she was slightly apprehensive.  At her tentative knock, the captain growled, "Enter."

Flitwick was right; he was writing furiously.  A quick, surreptitious look around took in many jars of eerie organs and animals, suspended in green or brown liquids.  Hermione had heard that one of the captain's passions was science, specifically chemistry, but then she had also heard that his mother was a one-legged shaman from the Barbary Islands.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?" 

"Everyone is waiting at the forecastle for you, sir."

"Very well."  He put his quill down and rose.

Hermione noticed a large, gray cylinder mounted on what looked like a gold stand, and protected by a glass case.  More intriguing still, it sat in pride of place atop its own carved mahogany stand.  She'd never seen anything like it before, and upon closer examination, it had a texture something like skin . . .

"If I may ask something, sir," she began, her interest piqued.

He raised an eyebrow, and Hermione realized too late that it was probably not the wisest thing to ask the captain something unless it was absolutely necessary.

"I was wondering what that was?"  She pointed to the cylinder.

For a moment it looked as though the captain was struggling with whether to answer or not.  At last he said brusquely, "It is a . . . hollow elephant's foot.  A gift from the admiral," he added hurriedly at her nonplussed gaze.  "I am told it is very rare and valuable.  He told me that it was supposed to be used as a wastebasket."  This last was said in a somewhat defensive manner.

"Oh."

Hermione could tell he prized it greatly, never mind how odd it was.  Naturally, a gift from the admiral was worth its weight in gold.  Hermione dreamed of becoming a captain herself one day, and the crowning achievement of her career would be to make the acquaintance of Admiral Dumbledore.

But then, something in his tone also told her that he rather wished the admiral had given him a more practical or conventional present.  A hollow elephant's foot . . . no wonder they said the admiral was bizarre.

"No more questions," he ordered, as if afraid a thousand more inquiries would suddenly tumble uncontrollably from her lips.  His fears weren't misplaced; he was her sword master, after all, and Hermione's inquiries as to whether _this_ angle of holding the sword was preferable to _that_ angle had often annoyed him to the point of tears.

"Yes, sir."  She opened the door for him and followed him out.

Standing in front of the assembled crew, Snape cast a look of general contempt upon them, and called, "Where is that miserable Longbottom?"

Horribly red, Neville shuffled to the front.  The last lesson, he had lunged at his partner in an imitation of the thrusting move Snape had taught them, tripped over an uneven plank, and nearly put his own eye out.

"You are excused from this lesson.  In battle, just do what you did last time, except to the enemy, and I may find that I am forced to promote you for distinguishing yourself in action."  

Filch, the boatswain, laughed croakily.  He was always trying to get in the captain's good graces, a fact well known to all.  

Snape smiled coldly at him, and continued, "In any case, practice is unnecessary, and may even contribute to the deterioration of what little ability you possessed in the beginning.  You may assist the steward in the kitchens . . . make yourself useful."  He waved vaguely, dismissing Neville.

"Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir."  Neville turned in shame.  

 "I'd rather work with Dobby than Snape any time," whispered Ron.  "You're quite lucky, really."

Neville smiled awkwardly, and many other people murmured their consolations.

Hermione pursed her lips.  She thought that was excessively cruel, and neither lieutenant tried to reason with the captain.  McGonagall and Flitwick both seemed unhappy with his actions, but they did nothing.

"Sir!" she cried, forcing her way to the front.

"No!" Harry reached to seize the back of her coat.  Beside him, Ron froze in horror.

They were too late; everyone's attention was focused on Hermione.

Snape appeared displeased for a second, but a smirk soon appeared on his face.

"Miss Granger," he said softly.

"Sir, I think you're being unfair to Neville.  You should give him a chance.  It's not his fault he's not as - coordinated - as the rest of us.  And it doesn't help that you're always mocking him unmercifully.  Maybe he would improve if you were a little more patient with him.  I -," Hermione realized that it was painfully quiet and everyone's eyes were fixed on her.  Not in a good way, either.

"Well."  Snape gave a dry chuckle.  Filch immediately laughed again, but went silent at Snape's look.  "How noble of you to protest on Mr. Longbottom's behalf," his eyes flickered to a spot in back of the crowd, which, Hermione presumed, was where Neville had frozen on his way to the kitchen.  "But it appears that he is not unhappy with this arrangement.  Are you, Mr. Longbottom?"

A barely audible "no, sir" came from Neville's direction.

"So you have been disruptive and insubordinate in the same breath, Miss Granger."

Oh no.  She had forgotten to count her "sir's."  _Damn _it.

"Ordinarily I would assign you an appropriate punishment, but why not open today's lesson differently?"

She didn't like the way he said differently.

"You appear to be a competent with a sword, unlike Mr. Longbottom, and since you dare to confront the captain verbally, surely you would not decline to accost me with your sword?"

Amidst the gaping crowd, Harry and Ron were motioning "No!" frantically.

"If you manage to draw blood before I do, I will withdraw your punishment."

He was suggesting that they aim for a small amount of blood, like a thin line across the arm, not a near-fatal wound.  Still, this proposal frightened Hermione.  Either he had a very high opinion of her abilities or he just looked forward to making her squirm.  Very likely the latter.  Drawing blood was subtle, precise, and difficult; and though Hermione wanted very much to win, she did not want to maim her captain either.

Unfortunately for Hermione, she had an innate sense of pride that was near indestructible.

"Why not?"  She paused.  "_Sir_."

The spectators gasped in a fittingly dramatic manner (was that Colin or Dennis Creevey that had fainted?), and Snape's lips thinned.

He drew his sword, a magnificent shining creation of Spanish steel, and she drew her own.  It was a gift from her former captain, and though she had always been fond of it, now she looked at its dull, marred blade and worn hilt, and her heart sank.  Lt. McGonagall, who rather liked Hermione, smiled in what was supposed to be a reassuring way, but came across as worried.  That didn't help either.

"On guard, Miss Granger," he purred.

"The same to you, sir," she muttered.

They began.

He circled on his feet, as if he were dancing, and he kept making irritating shadows of movements that were barely even feints, so slight they were.  As such, Hermione was constantly tensed, and her muscles cramped quickly.  Of course he would wait for _her to make the first move.  _

How could she have thought that she had any chance of defeating the captain?  He had taught her everything she knew about sword fighting. 

Yet they could not circle each other endlessly.  She thrust at him half-heartedly, and he parried effortlessly.  He pressed his advantage, so that she was forced to be on the defensive all the time.  Gradually, his attacks became quicker, more forceful, and Hermione could tell that he was toying with her.  Her breath was coming harder now, and sweat slid down her back.  On the other hand, his eyes were gleaming, and the hair escaping its ribbon only enhanced his lively, tousled look.  "Lively" being a relative term, of course: his skin would always have the sickly hue of a decomposing corpse.

Lavender observed morbidly, "At least it's a good day to die."

The sun was mild, and the breeze pleasant: the sails were not swollen, nor were they slack.  Placid ocean the color of a robin's egg rocked the ship gently.

"If Captain Snape kills her, he'll have to let us go ashore to gather flowers for her funeral," said Parvati, in the same tone as Lavender.

"Shut up!" said Ginny, eyes riveted on the two figures.    

By now, Hermione thought, he must be tiring of this.  He'll put an end to it, swiftly.  Once he decided to, she was helpless.

The thought of giving in to the inevitable never crossed her mind.  And now she had a plan.  Not a very good plan, true, but she had nothing else.

They had slowly been edging towards the same place Neville had tripped last time.  A few more well-placed thrusts of the captain's, and several feeble parries on her part, and they were there.

She let out a cry somewhere between "oh!" and "ow!" as she contrived to trip.  Hopefully he hadn't seen through her absurdly simple ruse.  Hermione pretended that she had hurt her ankle badly.  In order to do this convincingly, she had to drop her sword, which was the hardest part.

Unbelievably, he fell for it.

Following the code of honor, he sheathed his sword.  Hermione had been counting on his unwillingness to attack a fallen opponent.

"Miss Granger," he started complacently, "it appears that you have tripped, and consequently, there is no need –,"

As rapidly and carefully as she could, Hermione grasped her sword, rose, and made a small slashing movement towards Snape.  It happened to come near his face, and she was privately terrified that she had blinded him, or worse, cut his nose off.

A slim line of red welled up on his cheek, and he automatically reached up to touch it.  For a moment, he stared at his bloodied hand in silence.  All eyes on the pair were round and awestruck.

In a very small, clear voice: "You were saying, sir?"

"You used a very underhanded method to accomplish your goal, Miss Granger."  He was looking at her now, his tone neutral.

"With all due respect, sir, Lucius Mal Foi is more than likely to use dishonest maneuvers, and we should not be sanctimoniously honorable if it means the difference between life and death."

To some, it appeared that Snape hesitated.  Others noticed that the First Lieutenant smiled and inclined her head very slightly.

This happened in less than three seconds.  The captain immediately regained his composure and turned to the crew.  

"What Miss Granger says makes sense.  Is Lucius Mal Foi a gentleman?"

"No!" was the unequivocal response.

"Does he, or his crew, possess honor?"

"No!"

"Should we be honorable in battle with them?"

The answer was vague.  Ah, they were a British crew through and through.  

He smirked.  "Let us forget honor when it means the difference between life and death, then, shall we?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Should we send for Dr. Lupin, sir?" asked McGonagall.

"No, it's only a scratch."

"It may scar."

He shrugged and turned to Hermione.  McGonagall raised indignant eyebrows at Flitwick, who giggled.

"You are an outstanding swordswoman, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, sir."

She thought he almost smiled, but he faced the crew again and said, "We will carry on with this lesson.  And let it be known that Mr. Longbottom is invited to rejoin the class."

***

"It's said that you are in a very good position to be promoted," Lupin said conversationally.

After dinner, Hermione had offered to assist the doctor, and now they were organizing his medical equipment and taking an inventory.  Hermione liked Lupin's quarters; they were cozy and neat, and the candlelight cast a warm glow over their work.

Hermione paused, her quill over a list of wound dressings in the doctor's possession.  Most officers were promoted if they distinguished themselves in battle, but Snape was infamous for being hard to impress, and Hermione had little experience of actual combat.

"Why would they think that?" she asked cautiously.

"You were wonderful today."

"In real combat, I wouldn't have lasted two minutes, and you know that, doctor."  She lowered her head to write again.

"If the captain had come to me immediately, I could have prevented his cheek from scarring.  I saw him at dinner."

"I'm sure the captain doesn't care that much about his appearance."

"Oh, he does."  Lupin grinned mischievously.  "Ask Mr. Longbottom to see the three-page list of instructions Captain Snape gave him on the care of his uniform.  He gave his last cabin boy twenty strokes for failing to clean his coat well enough.  He claimed that he couldn't see his nose in one of the buttons."  

Hermione stared.  "You can't be serious!"

Lupin laughed.  "Well, not about the last thing.  But, seriously, you ought to ask Neville for a look at that list."

"Er – what's your point, sir?"

"I think the captain intends to wear that scar with pride," confided Lupin with the smug air of a boy who has sneakily eaten all the plum cake.

"Mmm."  Perhaps the doctor was feeling a bit strained.  Hermione made a note to inform the surgeon's mate, Ms. Pomfrey.  She should help him more if this is what overwork did to him.  He was making no sense at all.

Thankfully, they began to talk of other things, and he didn't show any more of that – instability?  Whatever it was.  

When she left, however, she didn't see Lupin rub his hands in what most people would describe as glee.  Or anticipation.  Perhaps even gleeful anticipation.

Except it looked awfully wrong when benevolent, smiling Dr. Lupin did it.

A/N: Who doesn't love constructive criticism and gushing praise?  I'm no exception to the rule.  Review and I'll glow for days.  And who knows, I might even update sooner.  ^_^

The line "I can, you know, do math and stuff," is really said by Harry in the first book (p.49), when he first meets Hagrid, and Hagrid is yelling about Harry knowing nothing.  For some reason this line cracks me up.


	2. Chapter 2

After the sword fighting incident, there was a period of comparative calm.  Unless you counted the captain forcing Susan Bones to swab the decks with a toothbrush owing to the "heinous crime of insubordination."  Sometimes it seemed that insubordination was the _only crime possible to commit on board the __Hogwarts.  _

Susan had been wretched enough to be on watch one evening when Snape had taken it into his mind to stroll around the deck to scrutinize the performance of his crew.

"Good evening, sir," she'd said.  Beside her, Hannah Abbott had only saluted fearfully.

He'd nodded.  And Susan, being so thick as to want to be more polite, and not realize that she was overdoing it, tried to Have A Conversation.

"It really is a good evening, though, isn't it?  That is to say, sir, we're having beautiful weather."  She smiled and gestured to the sunset.

The sinking sun bled countless magnificent hues into the horizon; they ranged from clear topaz to amaranthine.  The sea was calm, and there was a mild breeze just enough to propel the _Hogwarts_ at a reasonable pace.

"I find it deeply unpleasant," Snape said, with an expression that said he thought Susan's company as offensive as the weather.  "The damned winds aren't strong enough."

Captain Snape always seemed to be in a hurry, although the _Hogwarts_ did not have an official destination.  They didn't know the _Pamplemousse's course, and as such, were basically wandering blindly, trusting to providence.  The superstitious sailors all believed in the _Hogwarts'_ good luck, as she had been christened by Admiral Dumbledore._

Susan voiced her opinion on that, to her great misfortune.

"But we en't really _going_ anywhere.  Sir, you've only orders to patrol the coast.  And we never have weather this nice back home," she added happily.

"Are you contradicting me, Miss Bones?"

Oblivious to the dangerous undertone to which Snape's voice had dropped, Susan said, "Well, sir, I just like the weather . . .."  Susan couldn't see anything wrong with that.  Apparently Hannah could, for she shrank into her hunched shoulders and watched in silent, wide-eyed fear.

"You like the weather," Snape repeated pensively, as if chewing the words.  Susan nodded enthusiastically.

"_Insubordination!" he spat.  Susan was stunned.  "You insolent brat!  We shall see if you still have the cheek to brazenly contradict your superiors when you're through cleaning my decks!"_

Susan had opened her mouth to protest, when Midshipman Ernie Macmillan happened to pass, and while he did not dare question the captain's authority, he shook his head at Susan behind Snape's back.

So Miss Bones carried out her sentence.  Really, though - it _was nice weather._

In fact, over a fortnight, it grew too nice.  What had been clement became uncomfortably warm, while the winds did not change.  Soon, the sweating deckhands labored shirtless under the sun.  Officers discarded their jackets, and often, their waistcoats.  Two exceptions existed: Luna Lovegood and Captain Snape.

Steward's Mate Luna was going around with her jacket inside out, claiming that it would protect her from pregnant remoras, which she said were especially vicious in hot climates.  As that was merely Luna, though, everyone ignored her.  

Captain Snape, however, never loosened so much as a button.  He stalked about the ship in full captain's regalia: gold-laced jacket, adorned with various medals, perfect cravat, and imposing black leather boots.  It was rare to see him without even his hat, and his clothes were continually pristine.  Hermione had not asked Neville about his duties as Snape's cabin boy in regards to the captain's attire, but from his appearance, she gained a greater appreciation of Neville's responsibilities.  Hermione was infinitely grateful, upon consideration of the condition of Snape's clothes, that she was not a cabin girl.  The funniest thing of all this was that Snape did not seem to suffer from the heat; he bore his usual irritable countenance, nothing more.  Not a drop of perspiration hung on his pallid brow.

The sun hot on her face, Hermione was drowsily musing on the subject of the captain's perverse apparel, and a few inappropriate observations on how surprisingly good the captain really looked in his complete outfit.  As for the scar she had given him: Hermione would never tell, but she privately thought it looked rather dashing.  

Well, it was early in the morning, and the intense heat can be held accountable to some degree, so one can forgive Hermione for her peculiar reflections.  She was on watch with Parvati, who she found extremely dull.  They lounged sullenly at the bow, not speaking to each other.

Yawning, Hermione extended her telescope and scanned the horizon perfunctorily.  Parvati scowled and fanned herself with her hand.

Hermione stiffened and leaned forward suddenly.

"What is it?"

"There's a ship – about two thousand feet off."

Parvati instantly became alert.  "Should I get the captain?"

"Yes."

Parvati darted off, while Hermione attempted to get a better look at the ship.  It was heavily armed, and she wanted to see its name, in case they had finally found the _Pamplemousse__.  Wait . . . there seemed to be an x in the name; it couldn't be Mal Foi's ship._

Captain Snape dashed over and took out his own telescope.  A quick glance was sufficient for him: he looked over at the two girls and said to Parvati, "Alert the crew.  Prepare for battle."

She nodded and ran to notify the drummer.  To Hermione he ordered, "Fetch the first lieutenant."

She found McGonagall in the gunroom, at breakfast with Flitwick and several other officers.

"Ma'am – sir -," she gasped, "the captain wants you.  We've sighted a ship."

"Impending battle?" asked McGonagall crisply.

"Yes, ma'am."

The other officers dropped their forks and cups, and they all rushed on the deck.  McGonagall nodded as she passed Hermione, who followed them out.

"Wind conditions favorable," muttered Snape, eyeing the sails.

"The current is advantageous as well."

Snape inclined his head.  "I shall be very surprised if we do not take her.  The gunmen are ready?"

"Flitwick has gone down to oversee them, sir."

"Good."

Hermione expected that they were going to take the ship as a prize, although it was not the _Pamplemousse__.  It was undoubtedly a French ship, however: no British ships were on this course, and one could now clearly see her name: __Beauxbatons__.  She was fleeing from them, but the _Hogwarts_ had the advantage in speed; Hermione guessed it would take no longer than forty-five minutes to catch up to her. _

Meanwhile, she went down into the hold.  Her place was now with the guns, and she had her own division to command.

Soon they drew close, and Flitwick squeaked, "Fire!"

They were all trying to aim for her masts in order to disable her; the point was not to sink the _Beauxbatons_.  As a rule, French ships were better built than British ships, so the British liked taking French ships into their own service.

Tremendous blasts rocked the _Hogwarts_, and people were constantly scuttling back and forth with the recoiling cannons.

Someone finally toppled the _Beauxbatons__' main mast with an enormous crash and many screams and French invectives.  A cheer rose through the hands as they burst on the deck and followed those who were already boarding the __Beauxbatons_.__

Pulse throbbing almost painfully, Hermione drew her sword and leapt on the _Beauxbatons__.  Those around her did the same.  The French fought viciously, and the scene was dizzying.  Everywhere, blood, the flash of steel, and gunshots dazzled Hermione.  As though from very far away, she saw the captain ripping up a mustached lieutenant with utter poise._

She ran into a particularly fierce looking blonde who seemed to take this attack personally.  She swung at Hermione as though Hermione had stolen her first-born child.  It frightened her, but she did her best, remembering dimly everything Snape had taught her.

"You are fools to attack our sheep!" shrieked the young woman in heavily accented English, stabbing at Hermione maniacally.  "We will crush you!"

"Shut up," Hermione hissed, caught up in the exertion of warding off her blows.

The woman grinned, seeing that she had got to Hermione.  "Your sheep ees a peeg sty!  What a stupide name!  _'Ogwarts!"__  She laughed derisively._

Hermione wondered how she could have so much breath to spare.  Her arm was beginning to tire.  The other girl, however, seemed to want a response.

"You are savages!  So ugly and dirty.  Look at your captain!"

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Snape wet with scarlet, plunging his sword into a burly Frenchman's chest.  Her heart gave a strange leap, and she said determinedly, "You are _not to insult the captain."_

A burst of energy sang through her arm and sent her blade into her opponent's stomach.

"_Merde," she grunted, blood bubbling up between her lips.  She staggered and fell, her sword clattering several feet away.  Her hands fumbled at her clothes._

"Let that be a lesson to you," cried Hermione.  She then turned to aid Neville, who was fighting gallantly, though he was cornered.

"Aii!"  With one last wild cry, the French girl lunged upwards with a short dagger in her fist.  She embedded it in Hermione's side.

"Ah," Hermione gasped, bending over.

"Hermione!" yelled Harry and Ron simultaneously, both busy with their own duels.  They fought to get to her, but they were too far away.

The captain, however, saw Hermione fall, and he leapt lightly to her side.  He checked her wound, and saw the nearby Ginny neatly dispatch a stocky girl.

"Weasley!" he bellowed, assuming that she was one of that clan from her red hair.  When she looked at him, he continued, "Stand over Miss Granger and guard her with your life!"

He looked dead serious, and Ginny thought with a sinking feeling that she was damned either way: if she abandoned her charge, Snape would be livid; if she defended Hermione in this chaos, it was most likely that she would not escape unscathed.  A second's consideration decided her.  Ginny would rather die at the hands of the French than face the captain's wrath any day.

Meanwhile, Snape charged back into battle with renewed fury, and it was short work before Captain Maxime, severely wounded, presented him with her sword in a gesture of surrender.

During this time, Ginny had effectively protected Hermione from harm.  Her swordplay overwhelmed the French; much stronger motivations impelled her to fight.  

As soon as he could, Snape hastened to Hermione's side.  Ginny was kneeling at her side, attempting to staunch the flow of blood.  The wound was rather deep.

"How is she?" asked Snape brusquely.

"She's breathing, sir, but her pulse is weakening."

"Damn."  With a grunt, Snape lifted Hermione and carried her to the sickbay on board the _Hogwarts_, where Dr. Lupin was.  The doctor was more comfortable on his own ship, where he had all his equipment ready.  Snape cursed him for this, having to bear Hermione across the two ships, knowing she was losing blood all the while.

"The butcher's bill, doctor?" he addressed Lupin, laying Hermione on an empty bed.

Lupin crossed to him from Neville's side, done ascertaining that Neville would not have to lose either of his thumbs.  "Forty-seven wounded, none dead."

"None dead?"  He raised his eyebrows doubtfully.  Having trained the crew himself, he knew perfectly well their skill in battle.

"What can I say?" Lupin shrugged his shoulders.  "The French never win."

Snape snorted.  "What of Mal Foi?"

"He's more than human, isn't he?"  Lupin finished wiping his hands, and began examining Hermione.

Snape laughed hollowly.

"As are you of course, sir," said Lupin, peering at the slash in Hermione's side.  "By no means are you Mal Foi's inferior in any way."

"Your first 'sir' in four sentences," observed Snape dryly.  

"It was wrong of me.  Forgive me, sir.  And you're not injured, are you?"  

"Your fulsome behavior will get you nowhere.  I'm in excellent health, my dear doctor, thank you for asking."

Lupin smiled, though his eyes wore an expression of utmost concentration.  "I do my best, sir."

"Well?"

"It looks worse than it is.  I'll sew her up and she'll be fine."  Lupin bandaged her abdomen and turned to go.

"Where are you going?" Snape demanded, who had been watching in puzzlement as Lupin bound the wound.  He _had said he would put in stitches._

Lupin looked mildly surprised.  "Dennis Creevey may lose his arm if I don't attend to him immediately.  I assure you, sir, Miss Granger can wait."

"No.  She can't."  Snape took a step nearer Lupin.  "I insist that you treat her now."

Lupin opened his mouth to argue.

"Would you like to lose your own arm, doctor?" asked Snape softly, courteously.

Lupin's eyes flittered from Snape's hand to his sword.  "Ah.  Allow me to get a needle and thread, sir."

Pleasantly: "Of course." 

While Lupin stitched the gash closed, Snape sat close by and made various helpful comments such as, "Stop moving your hand around so much, you sod."

"Sir, I need to move my hand to sew," explained Lupin patiently.

"You're swinging it as if you were a windmill."

After a silence, Lupin said, "Sir, I appreciate your desire to ensure Miss Granger's health, but breathing down my neck will hardly make things easier."

Snape sniffed but said less.

When it was done at last, Lupin took a look at Snape's relieved, drawn face, and his playful nature surfaced.  Sometimes he had the most inappropriate sense of humor.

"Sir, there's one thing I didn't tell you."

Snape went rigid.

"I felt it would be best to inform you after Miss Granger's surgery.  The thing is, while I was examining her wound, I was unable to determine whether there is damage to her liver."

A panicky beast emerged in Snape's breast and clawed its way up his throat.  Lupin knew very well of the presence of this creature, and he smiled secretly.

"What this means, sir, is that if there is sufficient damage, it could be fatal.  At any rate, it's so far inside that I wouldn't be able to help her if it were injured.  It's quite unsure though, sir.  I don't want you to worry unnecessarily."

Now he saw Snape swallow the creature and Lupin realized a flogging hovered on the tip of Snape's tongue.

"I'm only joking, sir," he said quickly, allowing his amusement to show on his face.

"What?" said Snape slowly.

"Truthfully, er – Miss Granger's liver is quite sound.  She is in no danger whatsoever.  It was only my little joke, sir."

A pause.

"Do you realize," Snape said stiffly, "if you weren't the only qualified doctor on board, I'd hang you?"

Lupin smiled and bowed. 

***

It turned out that poor Dennis did lose his arm, but it was his left one, and he did not mourn it so much as one might have expected.  For one thing, it ensured that he would always have a story to tell in the presence of company.  Furthermore, it was something that Dennis and Colin would consider a bragging point.  For years afterward, Dennis would introduce himself to new acquaintances by shaking their hands ostentatiously (right hands of course) and saying apologetically, "You see, I don't have a left arm."

So Hermione didn't feel _too guilty over Colin's amputated arm.  In fact, she was really very happy following the _Beauxbatons___' capture._

Harry and Ron were both unharmed, and Snape had sent Second Lieutenant Flitwick on the _Beauxbatons_ with his division as a skeleton crew to take her back to England.  

Also, Snape had very thoughtfully retrieved her blonde opponent's sword and personally bestowed it on her.

"You did quite well for your first action under my command.  The first lieutenant fell to your blade."

"Thank you, sir.  I had no idea she was the first lieutenant."

"Here is her sword.  I thought it most appropriate to present it to you."

"Oh, sir!"  Reverently she took it.  "This is very generous of you.  Thank you."

He smiled thinly and bowed, after which Hermione took her leave.

It was a beautiful weapon: light and strong.  Hermione was only too happy to put her old steel away.

Dinners in the gunroom were also much pleasanter after the _Beauxbatons_._  He sometimes struck up conversations with Hermione.  A marked respect had been in Snape's bearing towards her after the little dueling scene, though he had not talked.  Though he _had_ asked her civilly for the salt._

Generally, he had been taciturn at meals, speaking only of business and practical affairs with his lieutenants.  His new behavior seemed unusual not only to Hermione, but to everyone else in the gunroom.  In all likelihood, the captain was a gentleman by birth, and he was nearly one in table manners.  Indifference or ignorance caused him to omit certain proprieties, but his actions were all characterized by a certain air, as of grace and confidence, so that no one took much notice of his deficiencies.  His sudden loquaciousness added to his appearance of good breeding.

"I should like to know who taught you trigonometry and the other particulars of navigation.  Your skills are not . . . unremarkable."  

Hermione had just shown him a series of calculations determining the approximate length of time it would take them to catch up to the _Pamplemousse_._  The __Beauxbatons' crew (who had been pressed into service or put into the prison in the hold) and certain papers found aboard it had given the __Hogwarts invaluable information about the _Pamplemousse_'s course. _

"You exaggerate, sir," Hermione flushed at his words, which were, in Snape's case, exceptional praise.  "On the ship I served before _Hogwarts_, I learned from Captain Moody.  Aboard the _Hogwarts, Master Vector has taught me very well also."_

Vector beamed at Hermione.

"You should see her skills at medicine, Captain," Lupin chimed in.  "She'll make an excellent surgeon some day."

Snape did not exactly like the doctor, so he merely glared.

"Why so silent all of a sudden?"  Lupin plowed on.  "You know, it's struck me that Captain Snape has been very talkative recently."

"And why shouldn't he be?" replied McGonagall, somewhat tartly.  She had a rather soft spot for the captain, prickly as he could be.  Snape returned a marked respect for her.  "As Miss Granger says, we'll be on the _Pamplemousse_ within a fortnight."

Lupin grinned widely, while Flitwick giggled into his napkin.  Snape continued to glare.  Since Black had "left," it seemed that Lupin had resolved to wreak Black's share of havoc as well as his own.

Hermione, who was somewhat unmindful at the moment, went on smiling.  She really thought that this change in the captain was an improvement.  He smiled more often now, and she noticed that this caused the scar she had carved to crease almost adorably . . .

A/N: _Merde means "shit."  How did I do with the French accent? *cringe*_

Special thanks:

**Croft** – You flatter me extremely!  It's good to see there are others out there who appreciate the finer things in life.  ^_~

**HunnySnowBunny**** – Lol . . . I will try to keep glowing?  And yes, Severus does make a wonderful captain.  ^^**

**KDarkMaiden** – Great minds think alike, yes?

**Kyra**** Invictus Black – That's a lot of very's.  Thank you!**

And to everyone else, I loved reading your reviews and hope to hear from you about chapter 2!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This is the last chapter.  It's been a great ride, guys.  

The next time, it was Harry who sighted the _Pamplemousse_.  In the crow's nest, black hair blowing about spectacularly, he cried, "It's the _Pamplemousse!  _Pamplemousse_ sighted!  Right over the horizon!"_

Someone got Snape, and he ran on board.

"Potter!  How far off is she?"

"I'd say a thousand meters, sir!"

Harry clambered down to the deck with alacrity.    

"I don't think she can see us, sir.  She's just so, over the horizon."

"Excellent," Snape muttered, turning to where Harry had indicated.  A close scrutiny with his telescope revealed the tops of white sails about a mile off.

"Very beneficial circumstances, sir," agreed McGonagall, her own telescope out.  "As with the _Beauxbatons__."___

Flitwick took note of the current, wind, and their speed.  "I'll go down and ready the guns, then, sir."

Snape nodded, and at the bell, most everyone went below deck.

The sails were full-bellied and they would be upon the _Pamplemousse very shortly.  They could not have wished for better conditions._

Once within range, they fired at the masts, like with the _Beauxbatons_._  The __Pamplemousse had obviously been taken by surprise, for it was a while before they returned fire, and by then, substantial damage had been done.  The __Hogwarts, however, soon found out how Mal Foi had earned his reputation._

Before two more minutes passed, one of the _Hogwarts'_ masts toppled massively.

With wild shouts, the French charged aboard the _Hogwarts_, and it was then Hermione got her first glimpse of Mal Foi.  Splendid in uniform, and fair-haired, Hermione thought that he was actually very striking, hateful though it was to make that confession.

He was terribly _distingue, and his gray eyes laughed as he drew his rapier across the belly of some poor deckhand who crossed his path.  Hermione shuddered._

But she was quickly engrossed in her own fights, and this crew was vastly superior to the _Beauxbatons__'.  At one point Hermione saw a pale young man, who greatly resembled Mal Foi, cutting up a midshipman, and she remembered vaguely that she'd heard somewhere Mal Foi had a son._

The first lieutenant's sword served her well; it danced trippingly and flashed under the sun as if in defiance.  After she had buried the point in a grotesquely fat midshipman's stomach, she unbent and looked around for another fight.

Everyone else seemed to be engaged; there were no unoccupied opponents.  Then, on the forecastle, it was with a sinking feeling that Hermione saw Mal Foi dueling Snape.

They were nearly equally matched; certainly no one else from either ship could have taken on the others' captain.  Both were as lithe and graceful as cats.  Mal Foi seemed to be pressing Snape more forcefully, however; though he was not as nimble as Snape at wrist play.

With a cunning thrust, Mal Foi slipped past his foe's defenses and embedded the tip of his sword in Snape's thigh.  He sank to one knee.  Hermione, who had been edging closer all this time, flew at Mal Foi, along with several other Hogwartses, and this prevented him from ending all with a deep stab.

In their rage, the Hogwartses might have finished Mal Foi together; but his son and a few others came to their captain's defense.  Amidst the resulting whirlwind of steel, Mal Foi slipped away.  Hermione was the only one who saw him go; she had seen with satisfaction that Snape had inflicted a great slash on Mal Foi's right forearm, and now she followed him from a safe distance.

He slunk into the captain's cabin, and feeling indignant, Hermione went in after him.  He was probably going to bind his arm and rejoin the battle – unless he intended to hide in there and ambush the first person who walked in.

"Wouldn't put it past him," Hermione muttered to herself as she raised her sword and stalked in.

Hardly daring to breathe, Hermione got as far as the captain's desk and saw Mal Foi there, sword flying.  He was elegantly ripping up one of Snape's best shirts in order to have something with which he could dress his wound.  It was with a sort of gleeful pleasure that Hermione noticed him using his left arm, his right arm bleeding profusely and he holding it at an awkward angle.  That shirt though . . . Hermione recognized it to be one that she thought became the captain extremely.

She must have made a sound of muffled outrage, for he looked up and instantly reached for the pistol sticking out haphazardly out of his belt.  Mal Foi used his injured right arm, however, and his shot went wild.  

"_Merde__!" he cursed, using the same word the __Beauxbatons__' first lieutenant had, Hermione noticed.  A tinkling of shattered glass signaled that Mal Foi had hit the case in which the captain had so proudly displayed his gift from the admiral: the hollow elephant's foot._

Apparently the pistol had no more shots left in it, for he dropped it without a second glance and awkwardly hefted his sword with his left hand.

"_Mademoiselle," he murmured, inclining his head mockingly.  He pinned her with his harsh, pale eyes._

She leapt at him, enraged, and the ferocity of her attack startled him.  For several minutes only the metallic clangs of their blades and their labored breathing could be heard.  Hermione was holding her ground quite well, but she knew that if Snape had not wounded Mal Foi, she wouldn't have stood a chance.  Assailing an injured opponent nearly made her feel culpable, but Mal Foi fought commendably, disabled or no.

Finally, Hermione deftly slid her sword underneath his and knocked it out of his hand, but she did it so vehemently that her own flew out of her grip as well.  Panting, Mal Foi scrabbled for his sword.

Some odd intuition in Hermione told her to do what she did next; certainly nothing in her training had ever taught her.  Crying out, she lunged at the stand and seized the elephant's foot.  It was unexpectedly heavy, and with a long gasp, she brought it down violently on Mal Foi's head.

As she pounced on him, he had reached his sword and raised it, and she partially impaled herself on it.

"Oh," she said blankly, as the blood welled up between her ribs.

The last thing she saw before the world went black was Mal Foi's malicious smirk turning vacant, his eyes rolling up into his handsome head.

***

When Hermione opened her eyes, she was neatly bundled into a bed in the sickbay, her various scratches dressed, and the slit in her ribcage sewn up.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" exclaimed Lupin delightedly, upon seeing she was awake.  He bustled to her side.

"How long have I been unconscious?" she asked, wincing.

"There, don't sit up.  You'll be as good as new with a bit of rest.  It's been three hours since we took the _Pamplemousse__."_

"What happened to Mal Foi?  How is the captain?" she burst out, suddenly remembering everything with great clarity.

"It's thanks to you that Mal Foi is in irons right now, down in the hold," said Lupin, smiling.  He gave her a cup of water.  "He was unconscious, as you were.  As for Captain Snape, he's in good health.  That leg will be stiff for a while, but it won't handicap him."

"Where is he?"

"I believe he's down exchanging some words with Mal Foi."  It looked as if Lupin were about to say more, but then Snape limped in on a cane.

"Sir," said Lupin concernedly, "you should have gotten someone to help you walk . . ."

"_Fermes__ ta guelle," he snapped.  "I can walk perfectly well, thank you."_

"Sir," Hermione echoed, though with a much more charming countenance.  "How are you?"

She automatically sat upright, and cringed.

Snape's expression softened upon seeing her happiness.  "Tolerably well, Miss Granger.  And you?  Do lie down."

"I'm fine.  Dr. Lupin says I'll be completely healthy after some rest."

"Good," Snape said sincerely.  "The _Hogwarts owes you some congratulations, Miss Granger.  Mal Foi's capture is due to your exemplary conduct."_

"Thank you, sir.  Er – I used your hollow elephant's foot, sir.  Your gift from the admiral."  She flinched, expecting reproof.

"Yes, I noticed," he said, amused.  "Dumbledore told me that one day it would save my ship.  Perhaps he isn't as mad as he seems."

"Oh," she sighed with relief, smiling.

"It's not too badly damaged.  And I am very much mistaken if the admiral does not invite my officers and me to dine with him after he hears of our victory.  This time, I may get a better gift."

"What did you talk of with Mal Foi?"  Hermione had observed that he had spoken first to Lupin in French, forgetting to transition to English, which meant he was reasonably fluent and comfortable with both.  She herself had taken a little French grammar as a child.

"I spoke with him briefly.  Mostly we discussed his fate as a prisoner of war.   However, we did converse of other things: several favorite tactics of naval warfare, the finest French wines, and you, Miss Granger."  Something almost tender gleamed in his eye.

"Oh?"  Hermione was curious.  "What did he say?"

"_Elle est une femme fatale.__  Vous avez de la chance, monsieur," he recited with a flawless accent.  If he seemed somewhat flustered when repeating Mal Foi's words, Hermione did not notice.  She had not seen the mischievous, knowing look Mal Foi had given Snape._

"Hmm . . . I don't know what the second part is.  Would you translate for me, sir?"

At that moment, the surgeon's mate, Ms. Pomfrey, approached Hermione's bedside.

"Your friends have come to see you, Miss Granger."

A group of people stood behind her, Harry and Ron anxiously at the front.

Hermione's pleased expression brightened still further, and Snape rose, glad to see Potter and Weasley for once in his life.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley."  He nodded curtly at them.

"Sir."

"Excuse me, Miss Granger."  Snape rose and bowed to her.

"Shall I see you again, sir?"

The people clustered around her looked at them in confusion.  Snape's eyes lingered on her hopeful appearance.

"You may depend upon it."

He left, and her friends crowded together around her bed more tightly.  None of them saw her watching the captain's back thoughtfully, even wistfully.

***

At dinnertime, both ships were anchored and their sails furled.  An infectious air of excitement permeated the table, all talking joyfully of the victory.

Everyone expected Snape to appoint McGonagall captain of the _Pamplemousse and order her to take her back to Britain with a skeleton crew.  Snape remained silent and pensive throughout dinner, and many wondered what was wrong.  Though never garrulous, he did not usually hide his emotions after a triumph.  Actually, the safest time to talk to him was following a success._

Like everyone else, McGonagall must have anticipated the honor which did not come, but she seemed to have an inkling of what was going on in Snape's mind.

"Have you spoken with Miss Granger, sir?" she asked quietly.

"Yes."

"She has all the makings of an exceptional officer," she said warmly.  "She is a wonderful woman."

"She is."

After dinner, Snape went to the sick bay once more.

"You see I am back."  He smiled slightly.

"And it's a pleasure to see you, sir.  Could we – could we talk on the deck?  It's not too comfortable in here – a little stuffy, sir."

"Certainly we may go on deck for fresh air."

Lupin, who had been busy at the side with his own affairs up till this point, interrupted.

"Sir, I don't think that's too wise.  Miss Granger should be moved as little as possible."

"Be quiet, Lupin," said Snape dismissively.  "Go fetch two strong deckhands to carry Miss Granger in a chair on deck."

Hermione smiled as winningly as she could at Lupin, who relented.  Snape stood in self-conscious silence at the foot of her bed until Lupin returned with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan.

Once comfortably settled outside, the wind playing nicely across their faces and the sun dying resplendently, they began to talk.

"I trust you really do feel well?" Snape inquired.

"Really, truly, sir.  Thank you for coming to see me again."

"It's nothing."

But it wasn't.

His hair was tied back with a length of cobalt satin, but a dark lock had escaped its restraint to frame the scar Hermione had given him.  It seemed so long ago, Hermione thought fondly.

"May I speak with Mal Foi sometime?"

"If you like."

"He interests me," she said diffidently.

"He has a deep respect for you."  After a pause he added, "As do I."

Blushing, she muttered, "You are too kind, sir."  She cleared her throat and looked over at the first stars blossoming in the sky.  The night was still and quiet.

Then she saw the _Pamplemousse_ anchored at their side.

"The _Pamplemousse is still here," she said in surprise._

"Yes."

"Why - ?"  Her brows contracted.

"I would normally have asked Ms. McGonagall," he said.  "But . . ."

At that moment, his voice was deeper than Hermione had ever known it.

"Should you like to act as her captain?"  

Oh, he faltered then.  Hermione found the hitch in his voice most endearing.

 "Sir, I'd much rather sail with you."

Astonishment.

"And I – I would like nothing better."

 Hermione smiled towards the horizon, and Snape quivered in the dusk beside her.

It was a delicious quiver.

A/N:  The lines Snape quotes from Lucius mean: "She is a true _femme fatale_.  You are lucky, sir."  _Femme fatale_ literally means "deadly woman," but it is also an idiom that means "alluring woman."  Also, in the sick bay, when Snape barks at Lupin after he says Snape needs assistance walking, he is saying "shut up."

My sincere thanks to **Croft** and **CezyAngel**.  ^_^ 

Review?


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